Golden returned to the city of Forum amid a spring downpour, while snow was still heaped upon the streets and hills, when no guard would take the time to give more than a cursory examination of carts and goods. So, his identity was never relayed to those that pursued him and he was able to bring a trio of wine barrels to the manor.

  Alexander’s cries were irksome to him, but he made no true trouble of it as he glutted himself on wine and forestalled telling his story until Felicia had been summoned. The occupation of the night was thus listening to his tale. He began, “Your father was murdered and has been avenged, dear lady of Rackvidd. The city is currently governed by a steward. He was my first point of investigation. Quite the interesting fellow. I still don’t know if he’s dull-witted or one of the smartest men I’ve ever met.”

  Patrick Black indeed had been granted temporary rule of the territory, properly authorized by Lord Raymi before he perished of the poisoning. He was the only good choice available, but some would contest that he could possibly be called good while others would clamor to have their own. An uncaring bureaucrat in the best possible sense, he was a simple man that enjoyed his work. He loved to say yes to people’s requests, but happily said no, rarely on his own judgment but purely on procedure. Thus, law was brought to a grinding halt and the conniving grifters of the city were entirely shut out. Whereas their lies could work on the common man, the steward was immunized against such manipulation.

  Indeed, those that had conspired against against Lord Raymi had approached him and attempted to bribe him, but he didn’t even understand their offer. His mind refused to grasp the concept that he might hold in his hands the power of an autocrat, so long as he cooperated with these men.

  When Golden arrived in the city, he caused an undue stir by virtue of getting a candid discussion with the steward who had a great interest in understanding when Felicia would return and assume her proper authority, for he had a great many decisions piling up that he felt himself unauthorized to make. The congestive pressure he was creating would soon cause the more lowly systems to crack and for corruption to sweep in, but the revolutionaries found themselves so thwarted that their frustrations verged on madness.

  It’s worth noting that some of the merchants in the city and many of the city’s workers, found this to be a veritable golden age.

  His inquiries with the steward proved overly fruitful. Indeed, the avenues of investigation contained not just the fruit, but the stem, the plant and much of the dirt it sprouted from. The steward was able to recount every discussion of governance he had had with anyone for months prior–though it must be said that not many people bothered to talk with him–including what was discussed and when. To save Golden’s own sanity, it was soon agreed that the steward would prepare a ledger containing abbreviated notes and the former angel took off for the entertainment district.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  There were a great many crimes of fraud and corruption attempted, but little sign of a conspiracy to assassinate. For his own entertainment, Golden tracked down a man who attempted to undermine a judge to protect his murderous son, delivering father and son in pieces to the grieving family. I include this in the historical record purely because over a dozen more such acts of vengeance were committed in the city during the following years, all because of a bored angel.

  After several days of searching through the steward’s ledger he found a man pressing a legal claim to territory on the very edge of Rackvidd’s greater domain, land which properly belonged under Giordanan rule, which is to say under the suzerainty of the kingdom. It had been slipped in among many such claims for land in the Misty Isles. The claim had been rejected by Lord Raymi, at which point many gifts began flowing into the palace as surreptitious bribes. Among the gifts was an exotic tea imported from the east, some of which was given to Lord Raymi and some was given to the steward.

  By luck, he still had the jar, untouched, however he assured Golden that it had already been inspected by the palace’s poison inspector. Adamant, Golden had a cup of the foreign brew prepared. No sooner did he put it to his lips then he asked, “You used a stigmata to check for poison, didn’t you?”

  Indeed this was the case, and indeed the tea had no poison within it. What it had was a certain invigorating popular among older men. In the form of naught but tea, the poison was thus incomplete and thus it was non-toxic. However, the drug would linger in the system, awaiting the conjoining element which similarly did not qualify as poison. Only when both ingested did it begin to rot the organs.

  At last, the mortal angel had a man to pursue. He seized upon the merchant lord that very evening, and from him extracted further names of conspirators. Night after night, he slaughtered them until at last he took the head of one of the judicial councils and had to flee the city.

  All together they were petty men. Each held firm to the revolutionary ideas of the times, but what moved their hands toward death was the most concrete of advantages: money and power. The consequences of this partial purge would manifest in time, but justice of blood had been exacted for Felicia.

  The young lady was without the strength to leave for her own residence that night, and soon her staying in the Solhart manor was more common than not, though it took many weeks for her vitality to replenish.